Act 2: Boameth and the Fox
It was evening, and Boameth was lost in thought as he sat by the somber cairn of stones that served as his family's grave marker. He did this every night, staying out to watch the sun set over the valley below the cliffs of the plateau, and praying for the souls of his brothers and sister. On this particular night, his prayers were interrupted by the arrival of a silver-tailed fox.
The fox darted out of the underbrush, running with the reckless, overriding abandon of one fleeing a hunter. In its haste, it nearly collided headlong with young Boameth; it skidded to a halt before him. Boameth stood frozen before it, looking it in the eye; that one glance conveyed an unspeakable feeling of woe. A barbed arrowhead protruded from the fox's side, and its coat was slick with blood. Before the young man could react, the fox started and turned to flee. It only made it five paces before it collapsed in a heap.
Boameth could not say why he did what he did, it all happened so fast. He pulled off his thin jacket of homespun wool and bundled up the fox in it; the fox was too weak to object. With the bundle tucked beneath one wiry arm, he clambered up the branches of a nearby tree nestled it in an abandoned bird's nest. He then dropped back to the ground and awaited the inevitable arrival of the hunters.
- "Is it my imagination, or does this 'Boameth' kid look an awful lot like Nameless Ravine? Only younger than I am?" - Chokhan makes a dismissive gesture. "Sit quietly and do not distract the performers, Rivers."
Boameth heard the horses' hoofbeats only moments before the riders burst from the foliage right where the fox had first appeared. The hunting party was led by a snarling man-at-arms in black armor on a black warhorse. In the back stood a pair of squires, one holding a spear, and another carrying a quiver of arrows with cruelly barbed silver heads; they looked as if they could be twins. In the middle stood a Knight. Not merely a Knight, but the very flower of knighthood. His armor was of gleaming gold, his horse of purest white, his long red flowing cloak fluttering gracefully in the chill air.
The knight surveyed the horizon, before turning to the man-at-arms. "Captain, ask the peasant if he has perchance seen our quarry." The knight's voice was high and commanding, as befitting a lord of his stature.
- Storm of Amber's hands are drawn into fists, clenched so tightly that his knuckles are white. "That is... Arun!" - Chokhan stirs in his seat. "Not exactly. The friends and enemies that my son has met serve as the cast of this production. That is not Arun, but perhaps it is one very much like him. My son has chosen to see the two as one." - Rivers Between Us interrupts: "How come Storm of Amber gets to ask questions, when I don't?" - Chokhan again makes a gesture. "I said, sit quietly, Rivers."
The man-at-arms turned in his saddle. "You, churl, did you see a fox run this way?" Boameth hesitated to speak, but the soldier was not in a patient mood. He struck the young man in the chest with a mailed fist; Boameth could feel a rib crack as he was driven backwards into pile of stones, scattering several of them. "Speak, boy!"
"I... saw it... m'lord. It ran past there - " Boameth gritted his teeth through the pain and pointed to a splash of drying blood where the fox had collapsed - "and it had nowhere to run. It... lept off the cliff to its death."
The knight considered the cliff edge and the view beyond, and then wheeled his horse and rode back into the woods. The other riders turned to follow, leaving Boameth alone, gasping for breath on the ground. After some time, he pulled himself to his feet, gingerly climbed up the nearby tree - every exertion bringing waves of nausea - and retrieved the bundle. The fox's own breathing was shallow, but it would live. Cradling the animal in his arms, he staggered through the woods back to his hut, where he hid the fox behind a bundle of firewood.
The village healer came by, and put a bandage and a poultice on his swollen rib; he thanked her, and when she left, he took the fox from its hiding place, gently worked the arrowhead free, and wrapped his own poultice and bandage and wrapped it around the fox's wound. He gave the it some water to drink, and shared with it his meager dinner of dried meat and stale bread. The fox eyed him warily, but did not object.
Eventually, both the boy and the fox fell asleep in front of the hearth, battered and exhausted.
When dawn arrived, cold and clear, the fox was well enough to limp around the hut. The bruise on Boameth's chest had turned a frightening shade of purple, but he could at least walk. "Hello, little one," he said to the fox. "My name is Boameth, and this is my home. I see you're doing better," he said. "I want to thank you; it's not every day that I get to spoil Lord Alarun's games." The fox watched him warily as he took a few pieces of wood from the pile and placed it on the hearth; slowly, the guttering flame sprung back to life.
"Alarun is a... actually, I don't really know what he is. Some sort of spirit. He thinks he's a brave and noble knight, like the ones the minstrels sing about. He's enslaved our village, and he uses us to play his 'games'. Yesterday, he was playing 'Fox-Hunt'. There used to be lots of foxes in the woods, but I hardly see them anymore. I guess you probably know more about that than I do." Boameth rose, and winced. "I've lost my entire family to his twisted games, and there wasn't a damned thing I could do about it. Every morning and every evening I visit their graves; I need to go do that now. You should stay here and rest."
Boameth rose stiffly and limped down the wooded trail to the cliff's edge. The fox ignored his advice and followed quietly behind.
Shortly, the two of them stood before the pile of stones. "I thought I told you to stay and rest?" The fox did not respond. Boameth began collecting the scattered stones and puttling them back into a neat pile. "My parents died in the war, before Alarun arrived. Then one day he rides into down and says he's going to 'protect' us. Hah!" Boameth spat upon the ground. "Now no-one in the village can even leave the plateu. Alarun erected standing stones at the base of the cliffs; if you get near them, they glow an awful shade of green, and they turn you into a monster. Then Alarun hunts you down and calls it another glorious victory."
Boameth finished gathering the stones, sat down, and stared at the valley. The fox crept up beside him.
"I lost my eldest brother when Alarun decided that he wanted to joust against a fellow knight; he conjured up a horse, put my brother on it, and then ran him through with his spear. I lost my sister when Alarun decided he wanted to ride out and defeat a demon. Alarun summoned a demon for just such an occasion, and sacrificed my sister as part of the ritual."
Boameth did not cry as he spoke; he told his tale as one who had no more tears left.
"The next year was a famine year, and my middle brother tried to steal bread from Alarun's keep so we could eat. Alarun caught him, magicked him into a common crow, and baked him into a pie. The year after that, my youngest brother came up with a plan to get a message outside the village, maybe to one of the Sun-Warriors that I used to hear about, far away to the west; but he told his plans to a girl he loved, and Alarun caught her and tortured the plan out of her."
"Then he caught my brother and put him 'on trial' for crimes against the King. There isn't a real king; Alarun just put a paper crown on a scarecrow and used magic to make the scarecrow talk like a king. Once the 'game' was over, the scarecrow changed back, but my brother and his friend had been burned at the stake."
The wind tore at his cheeks; Boameth pretended not to care.
"Now, I'm the only one left of my family." He shut his eyes tightly, as if in concentration. "And the worst part? I can't remember their names. Any of them. Whenever Alarun takes someone from the village, it's like their names are erased! I can barely remember anything about them, but I miss them so much." He lapsed into silence, as the wind swirled around them.
The fox looked up at Boameth for a long, long time. Then finally, it limped over to the grave and began scratching in the dirt with its paws. It scratched for a long while. Finally, it looked Boameth in the eye, made curious little growl, and sped off into the woods. Boameth was too weary and sore to give chase. And then the scratches caught his eye; four characters written in the dirt. He read them his eyes growing wide in wonder and grief; they were "Amber, Sapphire, Leaf, Rivers..."
Boameth collapsed into a fit of weeping at the edge of the cliff, utterly overtaken by a flood of bitter memories.
Invisible stagehands pull the curtains closed, and the lights in the hall begin to glow more brightly. Sapphire River at Midnight frowns deeply. "I do not like the way this tale is going." Leaf Shakes the Wind shakes his head in agreement. "Nor do I."
Chokhan Fifteenth Son Shatters the River does not look at either of them, but simply says "You can leave, if you wish. The tale will almost certainly get worse before it is over. But if you leave now, you will never know."
The four shift uncomfortably, but none leave their seat. Eventually, the lights dim once more and the curtain is drawn back.
